


mille plantes et mille planètes

by lorelaislatte



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Soft Villanelle - Freeform, ft girlfriends on the run, honestly soft eve too, villanelle really really likes plants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:34:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24958459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorelaislatte/pseuds/lorelaislatte
Summary: If this is what it takes for Villanelle to not try to take down the Twelve with pure frustration and her bare hands, then what’s the harm.(Five more succulents and a cactus later, she’s beginning to realise the meaning of the phrase ‘famous last words’.)the “help, my girlfriend won’t stop buying plants and i don’t know how to make her stop” au from your local flower-loving witchy lesbian.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 28
Kudos: 254





	mille plantes et mille planètes

**Author's Note:**

> ever so slightly more canon-aligned than my last fic, but holy cow the response i got to that was so wonderful and SO motivating, and i’ve been playing around with this idea for a few days now. as ever comments are my absolute raison d’être and i can’t get plant-loving villanelle out of my head. it’s also my sovereign duty to tell you that the bergen tree-planting tour is absolutely a real thing and i’m taking applications if anyone wants to go with me. bon appétit x

“Wherever we go, I want some houseplants.”

Eve glances up from her laptop to see Villanelle sprawled over Carolyn’s couch, arms flung over the side and her chin resting on them as she stares thoughtfully at the cactus in front of her. 

They’re waiting in Carolyn’s living room to be told where their latest safe location is. Eve is hoping it’ll be somewhere a little nicer than two months in Deiniolen this time - she’s got a fiver on Jersey, Villanelle on Montenegro, and at this point it’s getting hard to tell which of them is going to be closer. Carolyn’s given them an estimate of a four month residency wherever they end up, so it’ll be nice to properly settle somewhere this time, but it does mean that Eve is positively _begging_ for anywhere a little more exciting than the north-west of Wales.

“Alright, we can get some plants. You can take care of them, though.”

Villanelle frowns, considering this. “You do remember that taking care of living things was more or less the opposite of what I did, right?”

Eve rolls her eyes, fighting the smile that seems to appear every time Villanelle cracks any kind of joke around her. “New leaf, then.”

Niko would have groaned, Bill would have thrown something at her, but Villanelle lets out a delighted laugh. “A new leaf! Exactly, Away from that shitty town. And the one before that.” Eve can’t say that Antibes had been the worst three weeks of her life, but they _had_ been shot at twice, so she’ll concede it. Villanelle has turned her attention back to Carolyn’s cactus. “There is a good climate in Montenegro. Humid. Perfect for cactuses.”

“Cacti.”

“Cacti,” Villanelle mimics in Eve’s accent, earning her another eye roll. 

“Jersey isn’t out of the running yet. I’ll spend my five quid on a _cacti,_ if you’re good.”

Villanelle stretches out, shooting her a look that’s positively sinful. “And when have I ever been that?” she says, just in time for Carolyn to walk back through the door with a pointed throat-clear and a stern look at Eve. “We’re reassigning you to Scandinavia, I’m afraid. Possibly not the best environment for cacti.”

Villanelle looks mournful. “Is that closer to Jersey, or to Montenegro?”

Carolyn pauses for a split-second. “Jersey. By about seven hundred kilometres.”

Eve almost gets hit in the eye with the five pound note Villanelle throws at her.

“On the plus side, Villanelle, it seems Eve now owes you a cactus.”

*

They’ve ended up in Bergen, Norway, which Eve supposes isn’t the worst result. The city has a decent atmosphere and their apartment is down an inconspicuous alleyway, just a few minutes away from Nygårdsparken, where Eve has taken to cycling through when she needs a bit of space. Villanelle has busied herself trying to learn Norwegian - it’s infuriating how easily she’s picking it up, Eve often thinks, however useful - and the neighbours don’t ask questions, something they’re both grateful for. The weather is milder than Eve expected, the food worse, but Villanelle had surpassed all odds in their various hideouts by turning out to be an excellent chef. Result.

Eve is still working remotely, helping Carolyn piece together more of the puzzle of how the Twelve connect up, and the days pass relatively fast. They’re only allowed a limited window of Internet access, so naturally Villanelle’s solution was to buy almost every DVD the nearby game shop had, even though it had resulted in three back-and-forth trips and a heavy dent in their weekly food budget. She’s getting through them at an alarming rate, saving the most interesting-looking ones for when Eve finally has to put her laptop away and laughing at the shitty ones by herself in the daytime. She keeps a running list ranking them all - at last check, Night at the Museum was her favourite (“the dinosaur is very well animated”) and Cats was solidly in last place (“it is not natural, Eve. I feel like I have lost something just by watching it”) - and Eve supposes that cosy movie nights probably weren’t all that common for her in the past. She’s all too happy to help Villanelle play catch-up.

Sometimes, Eve thinks back to Martin’s words, how you can keep a psychopath entertained for a short time, but it’ll eventually come to an end. She doesn’t take them too seriously. If two months of what she can realistically only describe as quaint domesticity in Wales wasn’t enough to send Villanelle off on one, then a few more in a place that actually had multiple supermarkets seems fairly plausible. She’s not even sure she thinks of Villanelle as a psychopath anymore. Certainly not in the same way. How can she, when she falls asleep every night to whisper-soft breaths on her neck, and a protective arm around her middle? When she wakes up every morning to deep kisses and breakfast in bed? When Villanelle fucks her as well as she does, then lies down next to her and plays with her hair as she tells her about all her favourite cities? 

Some things you just can’t imitate.

*

They’ve been in Bergen a couple of weeks now. Eve is already in bed by the time Villanelle gets back one weekend - it’s late, later than usual, and Eve has long since realised that creeping fear of Villanelle not coming home one day isn’t going to leave her any time soon. The lights are off, and it’s only when she feels Villanelle climb in beside her - why they bothered making a show of asking for a two bed apartment she’ll never know, Carolyn hadn’t believed them for a moment - that she lets herself relax, feeling an arm loop over her waist and a cold nose press itself into her hair. “You’re back late. Everything okay?”

“I was at a bar with the tour guide.”

Eve frowns, taking a second to consider whether what Villanelle said was as odd as the thought. “The uh, tour guide?”

Villanelle lightly taps her back, a silent ask for Eve to face her in conversation. “I found a tree-planting tour. You walk around and then you plant a tree. A Norway spruce. _Picea abies.”_

“You spent six hours planting a tree.”

Villanelle looks somewhat affronted at that. “Four hours. Then the bar.”

“Right, that’s better.”

Eve’s response is met with a pout. “Anyway, I’ve decided I’m going to buy us a tree. And some other plants. Like I said in London.”

“Sure. A couple in the kitchen would be nice.” She reaches out to move Villanelle’s hair off of her face, neatly tucking it behind her ear. “You’ll have to water them, though, I’m useless with that.”

“Didn’t you have a chicken?”

“Yeah. Past tense.”

“Eve!” Wide eyes meet hers in fake shock. “You killed the chicken?!”

“Okay, firstly, of all people I am _not_ taking that from _you._ And no, Niko gave it to the neighbour.”

“Asshole.”

Eve smiles, kisses her lightly and rolls back over. “It’s fine. I probably would have killed it in the end.”

“Well, you will not kill my plants.” Villanelle nestles back up against her. “They will be very special to me. And if you cross my plants I will cross you.”

Eve already knows that isn’t a joke.

“Alright. Goodnight, Alan Titchmarsh.”

She smiles as she feels a small kiss at the back of her head.

*

It happens gradually. 

A succulent on their kitchen windowsill appears first. Villanelle has attached a small tag to it, with _Haworthiopsis fasciata_ written in her loopy handwriting. A second one joins it a couple of days later - _Crassula ovata,_ of course Villanelle writes the Latin names that Eve has never heard of over their English translations. A third, _Sedum morganianum,_ the next afternoon. And a book on indoor plants materialises on their bookshelf.

Eve has to admit, she saw this coming.

Villanelle always has to have _something._ Her mind works too quickly to be idle for long, and for every ounce Eve feels herself struggling with their hideout period, she can be sure Villanelle is feeling it a hundred times more than she is. So, Eve reasons, if this is what it takes for Villanelle to not try to take down the Twelve with pure frustration and her bare hands, then what’s the harm. 

Five more succulents and a cactus later, she’s beginning to realise the meaning of the phrase ‘famous last words’.

*

“Villanelle?”

“Yes, Eve?”

“Uh, any reason why the armchair is gone and this-“ she doesn’t even know what it is, can’t dig through the fronds to get to the swirly namecard in the pot, “ _t_ _hing_ is there instead?”

“The armchair is in the bedroom and the _polyscias filicifolia_ looks much better there.”

“ _V_ _illanelle.”_

The blonde pops her head out from behind the fridge door, pointing a spatula at Eve with far more authority than the utensil deserves. “ _You_ said we could have houseplants. You have your job and me to keep you busy. It is this, or I take up soap carving. Take your pick.”

Eve trusts Villanelle, she really does, but somehow presenting her with an array of carving knives still seems like a bad idea. She’s only just got used to letting her have free reign in the kitchen - the day she’d come home brandishing a sushi knife she’s bought them is still the closest Eve has ever come to a genuine heart attack, but the food had been more than worth the risk. If she’s going to get stabbed to death by Villanelle, at least she’d get a good last meal out of it. 

She takes a seat at the kitchen table, shrugging her coat off and peering over to the stove where Villanelle seems to be cooking some kind of fish. She can smell a multitude of Italian herbs, and honestly, Villanelle can replace every bit of furniture they own as long as she keeps them this well-fed. Villanelle is still looking proudly over at the latest foliage to enter their house, and Eve can see she’s waiting to show off about it. “Go on, then. Tell me about the poly, uh, poly-science thing.”

“ _Polyscias filicifolia.”_

“Close enough.”

She can feel Villanelle’s excitement as she launches into a history of the plant, gesturing wildly with the spatula as she does. “It could grow up to be eight feet tall, Eve. It is an overachiever.”

“Much like you, then.”

Villanelle shoots her a coquettish look over one shoulder. “Charmer.”

“What else?”

“It is native to Malaysia. It likes sun in the morning, but should not be kept in it all day, hence why the armchair had to move. Oh, and it is easy to propagate, if we want more of them.”

Eve casts a wary eye over at her. “If it’s going to be eight feet tall I think we can live with just the one.”

“Spoilsport.”

*

About three weeks and several plants later Eve wakes up from a nap to Villanelle struggling to drag an enormous palm-leaf... _thing_ through the doorway of their bedroom. It marks probably the sixteenth or seventeenth plant to be introduced to their home - Eve just doesn’t have the heart to point out they’ve only got another couple of months in that apartment at most, and besides, she’d much rather have Villanelle decorating with excessive greenery than Niko’s weird amount of bookends cluttering up the shelves. 

“What’s this one?”

Villanelle’s eyes light up at her interest. “ _Licuala cordata._ Isn’t she beautiful?”

“It sure is, uh, something.”

“She’s going to live in that empty corner, by the window.”

Credit where it’s due, Villanelle was remarkably good at matching the right size plants to the gaps in their temporary home. The lack of personal touch tends to get to Eve a bit in all their stakeout homes, so fuck it.

She stretches, getting up to have a proper look. It’s pretty, the blue pot matches their curtains, it’s by Villanelle’s side of the bed so Eve’s chances of sleepily falling over it at night are minimal. “How many are you planning to get?”

Villanelle shrugs, leaning over to press a kiss to Eve’s cheekbone. “As many as the shop will let me. The checkout boy said I am his best customer.”

“Should I be jealous?”

Villanelle’s eyes darken ever so slightly as she looks Eve up and down, snaking a hand around her hips. “He gave me a loyalty card today with his number on it. Maybe I will phone him later.”

Eve spins them around so that the back of Villanelle’s knees hit the mattress, pinning her to the bed with a surprising amount of strength for her fourth minute of being awake. “Are you trying to tempt me, Oksana?”

Villanelle moans as Eve’s teeth nip at her jaw, reaching up to tangle her hands in Eve’s hair. “He told me to text him for a good time-“ she gasps as Eve’s hand slips inside her jeans, rubbing her clit at _just_ the right angle as Villanelle grinds her hips down. “Depends if you can show me a better one.”

“Oh, you’re _on.”_

Villanelle _definitely_ doesn’t call him.

*

She’s _royally_ fucked it.

After everything she and Villanelle have been through, every single thing they’ve said and done both to and about each other, Eve is pretty certain this is the first time she’s done something that’s actually, properly upset Villanelle.

She’s broken one of her plant pots.

If Villanelle wasn’t so solemn next to her it’d sound fucking hysterical. Her ex-assassin girlfriend who has a kill number of probably over a hundred and has stabbed six people with the hairpin she’s currently wearing alone is upset because of some broken ceramic. Of all the things in the world. It’s funny until she looks at Villanelle, and then suddenly it’s really not funny anymore. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’ll replace it, I promise. And we might be able to get some superglue?”

“Maybe.”

“It’s Saturday tomorrow. We can go to the place in Fyllingsdalen.”

“Sure.”

“Please, Vil, work with me here. I said I’m sorry.”

Villanelle finally turns to look at her, and while her eyes seem to soften ever so slightly, her mouth remains in a tense line. She rises, somewhat abruptly, heading towards the door. “I am going for a walk.”

Eve feels like _shit._

After a few minutes of listening to see if Villanelle is coming back any time soon she resigns herself to clearing up the remains of her precious _Ficus benjamina._ At least the tree itself is fine, Eve muses, not particularly sure what to do with it. She opts for their measuring jug propped against the wall, salvaging as much soil as she can. The broken pot is easy enough to get rid of, though she has to admit, it is a shame. It’s probably better for her sanity if she doesn’t ask how much these plants and their adornments cost, but it looks handmade and delicately painted, and she can’t imagine Villanelle is hunting around in the two-for-120kr buckets. Her phone buzzes as she vacuums up the spilled soil, glancing up at the clock as she does so. Good news or bad news, she wonders. It’s not like an abundance of people have her number. 

| **V** : I am not angry with you.

| **V** : I just need a bit of alone time.

| **V** : Back before 9. Promise. x

Well, at least it isn’t Carolyn telling her there’s a sniper dot on her forehead. 

There’s part of her that really can’t help thinking Villanelle is somewhat overreacting here, but at least she isn’t going to be stuck with a guilt trip all evening. They’ve gotten pretty good at navigating around each other’s bad moods - Eve tends to commandeer the second bedroom, while Villanelle prefers to blow off some steam outdoors doing who knows what - and while Villanelle had laughed the first time Eve brought up her ‘never go to bed angry’ rule, it’s done them well. 

It’s just gone half eight when Eve hears their front door quietly open and close again, Villanelle’s soft footsteps going first to the kitchen, then to their living room, where Eve is lying on the sofa on her second glass of wine. She looks up at Villanelle, who is staring rather fixedly at the point where the afternoon’s casualty had been. “Hey,” Eve offers, drawing her attention away. 

“Hi.” A pause. “Have you eaten?”

That’s something that continues to surprise Eve. For all Villanelle’s arrogance, she’s unexpectedly considerate when it comes to Eve. “Yeah, I have. Have you?”

Villanelle shakes her head, perching on the sofa arm by Eve’s feet. “I’ll have something later.” She gestures awkwardly to the sofa. “Can I?”

Eve shuffles around to make space for her, letting Villanelle crawl somewhat unceremoniously into the space next to her. There’s a few minutes of silence, save for the television - some American sitcom, Eve hasn’t really been paying attention - and then Villanelle takes a breath, clearly considering her next words. 

“My mother used to break my things.”

Eve feels her heart sink as she extends an arm out for Villanelle to cosy up to her. That’ll be the extreme reaction, then. “When you were a kid?”

“Mm. If I hadn’t done my chores, or my homework. I used to draw a lot, so she snapped all my pencils, the first time.”

“That’s horrible. I’m sorry.”

She feels Villanelle shrug against her. “I bent all her forks in half, so I guess we were even.”

“Sounds like she deserved it.”

“She did.”

The tension in the air finally evaporates as Villanelle tucks her head in against Eve’s collarbone. “I wasn’t scared of her. I didn’t really care. I just don’t like broken things.”

Eve doesn’t entirely believe her, knows there’s still a long conversation to be had about Villanelle’s childhood that they’ve been subconsciously delaying, but she lets it slide for the time being. “Alright,” she says, kissing her head, enjoying the feeling of Villanelle relaxing against her.

“To be completely clear, Eve, I don’t think of you as my mother.”

“Thank God for that,” Eve replies, and kisses her again.

*

Eve replaces the pot the next day. She can’t not, really. The one she finds isn’t the same, she doesn’t have the same eye Villanelle does for finding antiquities and original art, but it has the same red and white colour scheme, so it’ll do. Villanelle had been thrilled to see it there when got back from her morning run, immediately dragging Eve into their bedroom until Eve had had to dash to her call with Carolyn, who definitely noticed her messy hair and flushed skin combination, but mercifully let it go with nothing more than an eyebrow quirk. 

Villanelle spends half the call making rude gestures to Eve from behind the camera, before getting distracted and disappearing outside for a couple of hours, leaving Eve to deal with the unfortunate news that they’re on the move again. Carolyn believes somebody in Bergen is watching them, has received some kind of tip-off that the location of their apartment is no longer secret, and that they’re to be ready for reassignment to Worland, Wyoming at 5:30 the next morning. Eve would take a return to Wales over Wyoming, she’d probably take a bullet to the head from the Twelve over Wyoming, but arguing is futile. Carolyn at least has the grace to say she tried to get them somewhere outside of US soil, but Europe was temporarily out of the question, and an active cell operating in Central America had made her somewhat hesitant. Understandable, given the circumstances, but Eve refuses to hide her heavy sigh of irritation all the same. 

She doesn’t hate America, not really, but she’d left for a good reason, and _Wyoming,_ of all states? Better than the Bible Belt, she supposes, but come _on._

Villanelle is similarly frustrated, having hoped for Ecuador or Peru, wanting to further complete her checklist of countries, but she’s mainly upset about the plants, Eve soon realises. She’d reappeared about an hour later carrying a large fern - _Polypodiopsida,_ she’d insisted, to Eve’s eye-roll - and it’s dawned on her that she’s going to have to part with them sooner rather than later. They’ve got a couple of large suitcases between them, but it won’t be enough room.

“I’m sure whoever has this place next will appreciate them,” Eve says, trying to be at least vaguely optimistic.

“I hope so. I will leave detailed instructions.”

Villanelle clambers on to their bed, draping herself across Eve in a sulk, staring miserably at their newest addition. They’re silent for a long moment, Eve absent-mindedly toying with the ends of Villanelle’s hair. They always end up a bit reflective on moving day - Eve had thought she’d get used to it after the second or third time, but so far she still had that same sense of disappointment. Bergen wasn’t the most glamorous place on her to-visit list, but it’d been a nice balance between rural and urban, and she’s really going to miss the parks nearby. And the healthcare. And the slightly-more-human-rights. Republican Wyoming isn’t exactly the best place for them to live out their interracial sapphic dreams. But if it keeps them safe, if it keeps _Villanelle_ safe, she’ll take it. Villanelle would crush anyone who so much as looked at them the wrong way.

They lie there for about an hour, Villanelle shifting slightly to tuck her head under Eve’s chin, mumbling something about dinner. They ought to start packing, really, but Eve knows by now she’s completely unable to resist Villanelle’s kitchen abilities, and she concedes to a generous helping of paella before she starts to think about the logistics. Villanelle tells her about the forest they’ll be living near, about the types of trees and the history of it, and Eve is glad that she at least is coming round to it. A bored Villanelle is significantly more of a problem than a bored Eve. Their internet window is gone, Carolyn had shut it down as soon as the call had ended, but Eve makes a mental note to look up the town at the airport, see if she can find anything decent ahead of time. 

Villanelle spends a concerning amount of time writing instructions for each plant they’re having to leave behind, sighing dramatically as she leaves each one, ignoring Eve having to do the majority of the packing. She’s particularly sad when she gets to the fern, murmuring to it that she’s sorry they didn’t get to know each other better.

“Babe, the plant can’t hear you.”

“You don’t know that.”

Villanelle gives it a miserable pat on one leaf, taking a step back to admire it just a little longer.

“You know, I killed someone with a fern once.”

“How the _fuck-“_

*

Bergen to Wyoming is a hell of a journey, with three stopovers and no sleep, and Eve feels like she’s hallucinating her way through it, grateful for Villanelle’s presence and the sturdy hand on the small of her back. Going back through Heathrow makes her nervous, and brief holdup at security in Denver gives her just enough adrenaline to make it through the rest of the journey, and slapping down fifteen dollars on a bagel after they clear customs is the least wasteful purchase she’s made in her life.

Driving through Wyoming feels like the equivalent of driving through Buttfuck Nowhere, but the gas station pretzels they get for the journey are better than expected, and it’s nice to be able to actually read the road signs for a change. Villanelle is driving, has the radio tuned to some country station, and Eve finally lets herself get a couple of hours of sleep, feeling a little guilty that she’s the one getting to rest, but all too aware that her blurring vision isn’t the best accompaniment to operating any kind of vehicle. Besides, she thinks, Villanelle has more youth on her side than Eve does, she can handle it. 

She’s shaken awake with a gentle “we’re here, Eve,” drags her suitcase up the porch steps to an unassuming bungalow just off of the main highway, fiddles around with Carolyn’s cryptic instructions for a bit until Villanelle takes over and finds the key with ease. Notices with a flush of embarrassment that there’s only one bedroom this time.

Villanelle drops her suitcase unceremoniously in the kitchen, leans on the kitchen counter and studies the windowsill, mumbling something about how she misses her plants, when Eve remembers her final triumph. “Hey,” she said, making a come-here motion with one hand, not quite suppressing a smile as Villanelle joins her, peering at what Eve has to show her. 

The _Haworthiopsis fasciata_ is stashed away in her handbag, the first to appear in their Bergen kitchen, and Villanelle laughs, kisses her like it’s the first time, and Eve’s never been so happy to be in Wyoming in her life. 


End file.
